


Amended

by padfootvioletstilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek-centric, M/M, No Jennifer Blake, derek and stiles are together from season 1, love through the seasons, more of a character study, non-canon, rewritten, teen wolf alternate universe, they have alot of unexplicit sex, void!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:29:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5487050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padfootvioletstilinski/pseuds/padfootvioletstilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don’t kiss again.<br/>Not when he gets Stiles out of the hospital.<br/>Not when he tears Peter’s throat out.<br/>They stay apart.<br/>Until they come back together.</p>
<p>Basically, a rewrite of Stiles and Derek leading up to the end of Season 3B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amended

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guilttrippingg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guilttrippingg/gifts).



Their first kiss was abrupt. Angry. Rage itching in Derek’s skin as he pressed the Stilinski kid against his closed bedroom door. His hands were white hot brands under the teenagers t-shirt, he absently felt hands flint from his shoulders to his back to his neck.

He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. This remained him too much of her. Of Kate. The way her lips curled whenever he tried to make her laugh, when they were rocking together in her bed, her eyes had shone. The pleasure and disgust he felt when she licked down his chest. The puzzle pieces coming together in her head, the puzzle that would result in the death of his family.

Stilinski groaned in his mouth, pushing in his tongue insistently. Stiles. His name was Stiles. And he couldn’t be more than seventeen.

Before Derek could push away, a knock sounded on the door.

They broke apart.

And they didn’t reattach again while that Danny guy was here, while he was playing Stiles’ cousin Miguel. He could feel Stiles staring at him, burning holes into his body. But he kept his eyes peeled on the book in front of him. He glared at the kid while he was forced to change his shirt multiple times.

He didn’t regret slamming his head into his steering wheel. But he doesn’t understand what comes over him at the hospital. Seeing Stiles sprawled on the floor, while his previously dead Uncle Peter leered over him. All he knew was that he couldn’t let someone else die, not again.

They don’t kiss again.

Not when he gets Stiles out of the hospital.

Not when he tears Peter’s throat out.

They stay apart.

Until they come back together.

 

There’s a new threat, something he’s pretty sure he caused again. Erica, Boyd and Isaac are only interested in showing of their newfound strength. They don’t really understand. The McCall kid is only concerned about the Argent girl. Something Derek can understand, but will never accept.

The only one who really gets the extent of this, the only one Derek could really tolerate, was Stiles.

He could smell Stiles irritation and jealousy when he flirted with the receptionist at the police station. He could smell the spike of arousal and see it in his brown doe eyes as he looked up at him. He wanted him, and Derek wanted him too.

They fucked that night, withering in Stiles sheets, harsh, hot and angry. Nails clawed up his back, he didn’t let them heal till afterwards.

He bit at Stiles neck with human teeth, marked him, unnecessarily making him his, he just didn’t realise it yet.

He’s pretty sure he took Stiles virginity. The good part of him, the reasonable part that remained after the fire, knew he shouldn’t have done it. He was just as bad as Kate. And Stiles was hopelessly in love with Martin. 

But when Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer while he kissed his neck, Derek lost the will to care.

They slept together repeatedly after that night, Derek climbing through Stiles open window. It wasn’t love, it wasn’t delicate. It was brutal, like a war every other night. They never found out who won. Derek didn’t feel victorious when he snuck out of Stiles bedroom window.

He tried not to feel anything.  
Then Jackson was the Kanima, and he was used and manipulated and he lost his small ramshackle pack that he had only known for a while, but he knew he needed them. And Peter was back, which was the cherry on top of the situation.

He could feel Stiles eyes on him as he left the garage, he wanted to turn back, ask how he got the bruises. Ask if he was alright.

He didn’t.

 

Something changed that summer, something shifted inside Derek. He doesn’t know when it started, maybe when he saw Stiles at the supermarket, looking at different types of cereal, picking up low fat, healthy foods for his dad. He’d grown his hair, something inside Derek wanted to tug at his, and lick his neck. Stiles looked at him, and he looked back, there were at opposite sides of the aisle, but Stiles felt further away.

Stiles nodded at him with a quirked mouth, then he moved along, never looking back. Derek blinked after him, waiting for an hour till he couldn’t smell him anymore to leave.  
Stiles came to his new loft that night. The building was an impulse buy to say the least. It was a never ending project, an investment.

Derek smelt him before he heard him, heard his jack-rabbit heart beat as he tapped on the door. Derek thought he should give him a key, he didn’t know why he thought that.  
He looked good, healthy, he had filled out his clothes, but not in an obnoxious way. He didn’t look obnoxious either, he wasn’t smiling.

“You’re not okay, are you?” He asked kindly.

Derek shook his head weakly, “I’m fine.”  
Stiles stepped through the door when Derek turned his back on him, heading to the couch at the side near the hole in the wall.

“You look heavy. Like emotional heavy not weight heavy. But I guess you’re muscly heavy, I mean I should know right?” He babbled, he headed for the kitchen, Derek could hear him opening and closing cupboards. He didn’t bother telling him where everything was.

Stiles reappeared with two glasses of water. “If it’s any consolation, I’m glad you’re not a caveman anymore.”

Derek chucked dryly, “I’m glad you approve.”

Stiles hummed, looking around with curious interest, “Could use a bit of work, but nothing a bit of wolf power couldn’t fix”

Derek took one glass from him, and laid it on the table in front of the couch. “Why are you here, Stiles?”

Stiles thinned his lips, “Scott and Allison are doing the awkward Romeo and Juliet pinning from a distance, and he’s being all wolfy bro’s with Isaac so…” He trailed off, looking anywhere but Derek.

Derek drank some water, waiting patiently for him to continue, or trying to find any excuse to kick him out, because he didn’t want to admit how he liked seeing Stiles in his place, being undyingly domestic.

“Then I saw you at the supermarket, and we haven’t really talked properly since we had sex a few months ago.” He just said it straight out, Derek nearly choked on his water, he didn’t.

“And it was great sex, like life affirming sex, I thought it was anyway.”

Derek didn’t know what to say, it was good sex, great sex, but it was so angry, Derek didn’t want to be angry anymore. He had lost the will to be.

“And, I know I was a minor, but I’m eighteen now, legal. Even so, I think we both can’t keep going on just having great sex.”

Derek had no idea where this was heading, he leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees, Stiles was still standing in front of him, he looked nervous, and he was chewing on his plaid shirt sleeve. But his eyes were earnest. Because Stiles was always earnest.

“I want to help you find Erica and Boyd, but I think we could also do other things, there’s this really cool new restaurant near my side of town, and a new film we could take the piss out of, or make out in the back off. I know it’s a long shot, but we could try, if you want to try. Because I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to Derek, you deserve better.”

“Yes.” Derek said, he looked up at Stiles, his face plaintive, he wasn’t sure about what he said yes, maybe because Stiles could make him feel less angry, maybe because he actually reached out to Derek without an ulterior motive. Because he wasn’t Kate. Because he went this far, why not go the whole way.

He stood up slowly, trying not to smile at the shocked look on Stiles’ face, he placed both of his hands on his cheeks, Stiles looked up at him quietly. Derek closed the distance, both sighing into the kiss.

This wasn’t like the others, this was slow, moving, shy and sacred. Derek didn’t realise at the time that with this kiss, he belonged with Stiles completely. He would figure it out soon enough.

Stiles left that night with just a kiss, and returned the next day with blue prints and files, and a notebook of ideas of where Erica and Boyd could be.

Then the next evening, he picked stiles up at his house, he knocked on the door wearing a blazer of all things, he heard Stiles thundering down the stairs, he threw open the door and Derek gulped slightly.

He was wearing a plain black fitted t-shirt with brown trousers with a simple jacket, but he was the best thing Derek had seen in a long time.

It was simple, so utterly Stiles.

Stiles wrapped his arm around his waist and hugged Derek, who was too anxious and stiff to hug back in time.

Instead he tilted his head to the Camaro in invitation, Stiles shut the door tight behind him without a word, and the Sheriff probably had a night shift.

Remembering the Sheriff made Derek realise he and stiles had done all of this backwards, he was supposed to woo stiles, make him laugh with harmless flirting, then get the courage to ask him out, then meet his dad. He wasn’t supposed to fuck him first.

Stiles was babbling all the way to the restaurant, something Derek was surprisingly thankful for. His voice filled the empty space between them, his voice was lyrical, his mouth forming each syllable with precision and dedication. His mind was fast, over excited.

Derek nodded at the right times, hummed at others, actually made a comment or joke or two, because being with Stiles made him want to do that. He wanted to tell Stiles what he really thought about Greenberg, or talk to him about the fact that his jeep was failing yet again. It was normal, something Derek craved.

The restaurant was nice, quiet, and he had fun. Stiles nearly choked on his diet coke at a comment Derek made about his beloved Uncle Peter, Derek nearly cried when Stiles told him about the time he and Scott clogged up a sink and when the Sheriff tried to unclog it, the sink burped green muck all over his face.

Derek was sentimental when Stiles started talking about his mother, Claudia Stilinski seemed like a wonderful women, and it was obvious that Stiles adored her, even after her illness took hold. Derek talked about the fire, about living with Laura in New York, about how he felt it in his ribs when she died, felt a knife being twisted into his body, feeling something punch through his ribs to his spine.

Stiles held his hand on top of the table at that, squeezed it comfortingly. Derek squeezed back, then he looked at the soft look in Stiles eyes, and asked for the bill.

Going back to his loft wasn’t the original plan, but he and Stiles couldn’t stop looking at each other, they didn’t touch. Derek probably broke several safety procedures with the amount of times he looked away from the road to Stiles face, to his neck and hands.

He caught Stiles doing the same thing.

They entered the loft with soft smiles, Stiles shook off his jacket and toed off his shoes, he yawned softly, and nodded towards the bed.

After taking his own jacket and shoes off, he took Stiles hand and led him to the bed. He didn’t know what he wanted in this moment, he wanted to touch Stiles everywhere and anywhere, but he also wanted to hold him. To keep him close to his chest like a secret.

Stiles pulled him onto the bed in the centre of his new loft, “I don’t want to do anything tonight, and I think I’m too tired to even get it up, let alone finish the job.”

Derek grinned, falling onto the bed and dragging Stiles between the sheets, they lied facing each other, their fingertips barely touching in the bed, and their bodies would probably find each other’s in the night. With that thought in mind, Derek eyes flickered shut, Stiles’ even breaths lulling him to sleep.

He woke up in the morning to Stiles straddling him, which made him alert very quickly. Stiles leant down with a quirked mouth and brushed their noses together, he leant back up slightly, Derek tried to follow.

“Easy Tiger,” Stiles murmured, his eyes closed. He leaned back down teasingly, “We should try slow this time round.”  
Derek nodded, and pulled Stiles toward him, tasting his morning breath and not minding at all.

 

That was how Derek and Stiles became Derek&Stiles, they were “disgustingly domestic” (Scott’s words), Derek even met Stiles dad, and remembered the gun very vividly. Stiles apologised to Derek by blowing him in the Jeep.

Then Erica was dead, Derek carried her dead body like a weight crushing his heart. His baby sister was alive and sleeping in his bed while he tore through in the woods, shaking out the pain with his howls. When he was done, sweat caking his body and forehead, he couldn’t distinguish the sweat from his tears.

He walked back to the edge of the preserve, and saw Stiles, wonderful Stiles, waiting for him with a thermos of tea and one of Derek’s hoodies.

He leant his head into Stiles’ shoulder, and felt him wrap his arms around him, he breathed out slowly.

 

He was on his bed, the scars from the Alpha pack seeming to stretch as he breathed, when the Loft door was being shoved open and Stiles sniffed as he ran in.  
He knelt next to the bed, Derek tried to sit up, to wipe his tears. He smelt of Gasoline, and fear, Derek wanted to take his pain away.

Stiles pressed him into the bed with surprising gentleness, his touched cooled his hot skin. 

“Why aren’t you healing?” He whispered, his hands hovering over the tears.  
“They’re from an alpha.” Derek grumbled, closing his eyes.

“And? They still should’ve healed by now.”

“Why do you reek of Gasoline? Is Scott alright?”

Stiles shuddered, and Derek opened his eyes to look at him. He was biting and tearing into his lips, his hands twisting next to Derek’s body. Derek reached out and took Stiles hand in his.

“Scott’s alright now.” Stiles answered finally.

The word “now” kept rewinding and playing in Derek’s head, but he couldn’t dwell on it now. His skin was trying to knit itself back together, he turned his head and reached out and brought Stiles face to his, and kissed him, open mouthed and desperate. Stiles licked into his mouth and sucked on his tongue, Derek groaned, and pulled him closer, feeling his chest fill, Stiles occupying the space.

 

Stiles sacrificed part of his soul, Derek could no longer see the gleam in his eyes. They still had sex, but it was frantic, back to before. Stiles bit into his shoulder, scratched down his chest and back, and growled low and dark. It almost felt like there were different hands on him. They never slept in the same bed, Stiles always slinking off after they had sex.  
The last time they did, Stiles arched out of bed, slapping Derek away while screams were torn out of him. Derek had to hold his arms against his side till the screaming subsided, and Stiles cried. Each sob tore something in Derek that he never knew was there.

Then Stiles had to have an MRI, Derek waited in the hospital room with Scott, the sheriff and Melissa, then they heard the verdict. Frontotemporal Dementia, Derek wanted to collapse.

Then Stiles went missing.

Then he was the Nogitsune, and he wasn’t his Stiles anymore, he couldn’t see the good in his eyes when he faced him. When not-Stiles twisted his arm and threw him into the corner of his loft. 

Then Lydia and Scott crept into Stiles mind, forcing not-Stiles to puke up bandages and bandages. The real Stiles crawling up from the ruins.

Then it was all over, Aiden was dead, Allison was dead, Argent and Isaac were gone, Lydia and Scott were mourning.

Stiles was in Derek’s bed, shaking, tears falling into the sheets while Derek tucked his head under his chin, grounding him, counting his fingers, reassuring him of his existence, murmuring I love you into his hair, Stiles didn’t reply, he wasn’t even sure of himself, if his words were his own.

Derek just kissed his hair, thinking back to the time when they fucked out of anger and frustration, to when they curled into each other with smiles and soft kisses. He thought about how far they had come in this hell hole that was their home. And how far they had yet to come.

Stiles had fallen asleep on his chest, his eyelashes still wet. He rubbed his hair softly, and pulled the sheet over them. Hiding them both from the cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas to the amazing Shannon, love you more than life, you are the Ronan to my Adam.


End file.
